


Thanksgiving 2012 - Charity I

by Sunhawk16



Series: Charity [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunhawk16/pseuds/Sunhawk16
Summary: From Thanksgiving 2012.





	Thanksgiving 2012 - Charity I

**Author's Note:**

> From Thanksgiving 2012.

I noticed he was missing somewhere between the decimation of the turkey and the serving of the twenty-seven varieties of dessert. That period of lull where half the household was fussing around the kitchen and half was fussing in front of the television. It didn’t take much detective work to hunt him down… there were not a lot of quiet places in Quatre’s house with twenty-nine sisters (fifteen of which came with attendant spouses of varying sizes, shapes and genders), twenty nieces and nephews (of equally varied sizes, shapes and genders), a Maganac Corp, and all of us ex-Gundam pilots (less varied in size, shape and gender).

In fact, the only way to achieve any peace and quiet in the Winner household on Thanksgiving day, was to leave the house. Knowing that, and knowing Duo’s affinity for a certain area of Quatre’s grand garden, it took only about ten minutes to track him down. And another three to make up my mind of I’d be disturbing his peace and quiet with my presence or not.

He took the decision out of my hands when he looked up from his contemplation of the currently dry fountain he was sitting in front of, saw me, and smiled. ‘You can stay if you don’t rat me out.’

I snorted and went to join him on the cold, concrete bench, glad I’d taken the time to fetch my jacket. ‘And what are you doing out here, besides freezing your butt off?’

He chuckled and shifted a bit, his smile turning into a wry grin. ‘Just trying to clear some of the melodrama out of my head long enough to remember what this day is supposed to be all about.’

‘Melodrama?’ I asked, ‘you mean the argument between Gisela and Relena about the proper way to make dressing?’

I didn’t get the laugh I thought I would, but a heavy sigh instead. ‘Or the one between Noin and Rhoda about whether it’s called dressing or stuffing. Or the one between Zechs and Abdul about whose team has the better quarterback. Or the one between… half of the kids over who got the wishbone this year. Or who made the better cheesecake. Or who took the biggest slice.’

Apparently, I’d missed some of the random conversations. ‘You… ok?’ I had to ask, because that sigh had been pretty heavy.

He sighed again, a different one… the one that usually indicates that he knows he ought to be able to over-look something, but can’t quite.

‘It’s just… weird,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably again, but not showing any sign that he was ready to stop freezing his butt on a concrete bench in an outdoor garden in November. ‘Two days ago I was with my team in a desert, eating peaches out of a can with our hunting knives. We were three days into an assignment that had us swearing to a couple of different deities that we would repent every bad thought we ever had if we could just… you know… pretty please, make it back alive.’

I slid a hand across the space between us, taking his cold fingers in mine. I’d done my own swearing, just from a different location, so I knew what he was talking about. ‘Too much contrast?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s part of it. That village we were protecting? They could have eaten for days on the plate scrapings that just got dumped in the trash in there.’

I squeezed his fingers. ‘It was a bit… excessive.’

That just got me an expressive snort of derision for the understatement.

‘I just can’t help but think we’re not setting a very good example for those kids in there,’ he said, not going quite where I thought his thoughts were running. ‘What are we teaching them about what this day is all about? We’re not teaching them to be grateful for what they have the rest of the year… we’re teaching them that this day is about… I don’t even know. Stress? One-upmanship in the kitchen? Marathon eating?’

‘To buy stock in Pepto-Bismol?’ I added, and it derailed him enough that I got a laugh.

But it was followed by another one of his expressive sighs, and he scooted over close enough to rest his head on my shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’m over-thinking it, I know, but I realized about a half an hour ago that… I don’t even really want to be here.’

‘But,’ I said, thinking back over our time together, ‘you used to love Thanksgiving.’

‘I loved the… family part of it, I think,’ he said, and was quiet for a minute, mulling it over. ‘Or maybe we just felt the point more, closer to the war.’

‘It has gotten a little out of hand,’ I agreed.

‘You think?’ he snorted. ‘I think it was beyond out of hand when it graduated to ten freakin’ turkeys.’

I didn’t quite know what to say to that; when you just said it out loud like that, it did sound a little bit insane. Ten freakin’ turkeys, indeed. But… it wasn’t really our family. Hardly Quatre’s fault that he had such a large brood, and we were really just hangers on.

‘I know, I know,’ he sighed again, and there was an almost dejected feel to the way his head rested on my shoulder. ‘We’re just guests. I’m being a brat, and I know it. I’m really sorry, but it just felt like if I heard one more raised voice… one more argument… one more complaint… I was gonna explode.’

In retrospect, we probably should have begged off, what with Duo only having been home from a tough mission for a couple of days. I should have insisted on some down-time before attending something as stressful as a Winner no-holds barred, holiday extravaganza. Though, up until this conversation, I would not have thought of Thanksgiving dinner as ‘stressful’. But thinking about it… I really can’t say I had much been looking forward to the day either.

I slipped my arm around him and gave him a squeeze. ‘I think, if you’d like, we could get away with going home?’

‘I would like that very much,’ he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Before we have to choose a dessert and risk hurting somebody’s feelings.’

I… had not considered that aspect before. And with twenty-seven different choices, that left a hell of a lot of room for wounded culinary pride. ‘Maybe next year we could try to just plan something at home?’ I suggested. ‘Maybe just the five of us?’

‘Actually,’ Duo said, lifting his head, and I heard a bit of energy coming back to his voice. ‘I just had a thought for next year… ‘

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Well, it’s just an idea at this point,’ he mused, ‘but let me ask this; what age do you think is appropriate for volunteering at a soup kitchen?’

I blinked at the art nouveau fish in the dry fountain, and tried to imagine the Winner clan off-spring in aprons ladling dressing on the plates of homeless people. ‘I’m not sure, but I want to be there when you sell this idea of yours to Quatre.’

‘It’s not Quatre that will be the problem,’ Duo grinned wolfishly. ‘It’s the twenty-nine sisters…’

And why did it sound like he was looking forward to it? But then, I suppose, he had a year, and he was considered the top strategist at Preventers headquarters. Quatre’s sisters didn’t stand a chance; some life lessons were about to get doled out.

‘Well,’ I chuckled. ‘It should prove to be interesting, no matter how it plays out, which will beat the hell out of this. Can we go home now?’

‘Absolutely,’ he replied and stood to pull me to my feet. ‘I’ve got some research to start.’

I had a feeling there were some holiday traditions that were about to get blown to hell. And long past time for it too, in my humble opinion. We all had a lot to be thankful for, and if our generation could lose sight of the importance of that… how could we expect the one behind ours to see it in the first place?

We made our way out of the garden and were heading across the main patio when we heard a cry of victory from inside the house. Zechs, from the sound of it. ‘Touchdown! Take that! Who’s your Daddy now, smart-guy?’

We both stopped in our tracks, almost able to hear Abdul winding up a retort. ‘You have your jacket… I have mine,’ Duo said. ‘We left nothing else in the house. Would it be running away if we just texted Quatre our regrets and left?’

‘It’s called discretion,’ I grinned, ‘And I’m all for exercising it…’


End file.
